


There is no blue without yellow and without orange.

by balthazar_impresario



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Don't Judge, M/M, OK., it was this or biology revision, ok?, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazar_impresario/pseuds/balthazar_impresario
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's ability to wind up Enjolras is remarkable. (He practices, Enjolras is almost certain of it.) Ironically enough, the thing that annoys Enjolras most, however, is entirely unintentional on Grantaire's behalf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is no blue without yellow and without orange.

Enjolras is entirely aware of Grantaire's many (many, many) faults.

Grantaire drinks (in excess); smokes (like a chimney); talks too loud; swears too frequently and bites his nails down to stubs. Sometimes, he's been caught smoking a joint (when Enjolras had found him doing so, instead of looking ashamed, he went on to offer it to Enjolras instead) but nothing more.

Well, except that _one_ time. The incident that is _never_ spoken of, the one time Grantaire had really passed the line.

Enjolras remembers vividly the sweat that had clung to every inch of Grantaire's skin, making his thin t-shirt cling to him. His curls were in a manic disarray, knotted and sweat drenched.  Even Grantaire's eyes, usually glittering with a challenge or a sarcastic witticism, were blank and unseeing.

Enjolras struggles to admit it (even to himself) but as they sat up that night with Grantaire, watching him throw up violently until he could only retch and heave, Enjolras had been genuinely terrified. Not in the, terrified the world will never change for the better, sense but in the, _oh God, what if he actually dies?_  sense. 

Of course, Grantaire had been fine and the next day Enjolras and the rest of the ABC had all gathered in Enjolras' sitting room to have a Deadly Serious Talk with Grantaire.

There had been begging (Courfeyrac, Marius, Bossuet), tears (Joly), worried faces (Combeferre, Feuilly, Bahorel), poetry (Jehan, of course) and shouting. The shouting, admittedly, had mostly been Enjolras.

Well, only Enjolras.

At the end of it all, Grantaire swore to never touch hard drugs again and stick only to hard-- You get the idea (Enjolras had blushed something awful at Grantaire's innuendo, whereas Courfeyrac had nearly fallen off his chair in laughter.)

To summarise, Grantaire had a lot of faults- faults that everyone was aware of and handled in their own ways.

However, there was one thing that Grantaire did that made Enjolras want to rip his head off.

\---

He'd first noticed when they'd all been sat in the Musain. He had been going over leaflets with Combeferre, while the others drank coffee and generally acted like rowdy students.

Enjolras had looked up for a pen to annotate the leaflet he was proof reading, only to find a long, curling strand of orange peel in his way.

At the time, Enjolras had never considered orange peel in any particular depth. However, this orange peel was different. Instead of being a mess of little chunks of skin, there was one spiral of peel. Unbroken and intact.

Without thinking too much on it, he'd simply moved it away and returned to his work.

But it kept happening.

If Enjolras had them all over for a party (or, small social gathering with alcohol and music) he'd wake the next morning to find peel scattered all over his house. On window ledges, his bookcase, even balanced precariously on top of a bathroom tap.

At the Musain, he'd find them left on chairs, on tables or in coffee mugs. Little ringlets of orange that, inexplicably, made his blood boil.

Of course, it didn't take too long to realise who was doing it.

\---

"'Ferre, dude, chuck us an orange?" Grantaire had called across the living room, his voice carrying into Jehan and Courfeyrac's small kitchen.

Enjolras' head had shot up, his eyes narrowing as he watched Grantaire catch the thrown fruit, before beginning to peel it slowly, in one long strand.

He had to admit, it was quite a skill. Entirely useless, but still impressive. Enjolras' eyes had tracked Grantaire's nimble fingers as they seemed to unwrap the orange. What had been most annoying, however, was that Grantaire didn't seem to realise he'd been doing anything wrong. He'd simply continued talking to Joly, laughing occasionally in his annoyingly loud (yet charming) way. 

(Wait,  _charming?_ )

So engrossed in watching Grantaire, Enjolras hadn't even noticed Combeferre shouting his name- repeatedly. 

When it finally got through to him, he'd shook his head as if to dispel water from his ears, and looked over at Combeferre, who was frowning at him.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked, seeming genuinely concerned. 

"What? Yes, of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" He'd responded, frowning at his best friend. 

"Combeferre's been shouting your name for the last minute and you were totally zoned out," Bahorel had called from the living room. It was only then that Enjolras turned to look into the living room. Everyone was staring at him. 

Eponine, Marius and Cosette had all stopped playing Cluedo to watch, Feuilly's book was on his lap, Joly had a thermometer in his hand, wearing a concerned expression and even Jehan and Courfeyrac had stopped doting on one another to watch. 

Grantaire just looked puzzled, his orange left on the table in front of him. 

Enjolras had shook his head again, hoping no one could see the blush burning on his cheeks, "Fine, I'm fine." He'd said dismissively, in an attempt to restore his usual poise.

Things had returned back to normal, and Enjolras returned to the speech he and Combeferre were working on. 

And yes, maybe Enjolras was a little distracted for the rest of the evening, and maybe he watched Grantaire a little too much, but it was fine, it was all just  _fine.  
_

\---

Nothing was fine. 

Enjolras rolled over in his bed, abandoning his book next to him and flinging an arm across his eyes in a vain attempt to banish the images from his head. 

Grantaire and his  _fucking_ oranges. 

It was becoming ridiculous how obsessed Enjolras was getting. It was distracting him from his studies, from his protest planning with Courfeyrac. He couldn't even  _sleep._

He signed and rolled over again, grabbing his mobile off his bedside table. 

 **/To Courfeyrac:** **/ I have a dilemma.**  

It took only a few minutes for Courfeyrac to respond; 

**/From Courfeyrac:/ _its 3am why are you awake?? is this a politics thing, bc if so, you can frick off_**

****/From Courfeyrac:/ _(love you xoxoxoxo)_** **

****/To Courfeyrac:/ No, it's not politics related, it's about Grantaire.** **

******/From Courfeyrac:/** ** ** _******R???? whats he done now???** ** ** _

********/To Courfeyrac:/ He's peeling oranges.** ** ** **

Enjolras jumped when his phone buzzed in his hand, signalling an incoming phone call; 

 _"He's doing what?"_ Courfeyrac asked, his voice muffled and sleepy. 

"He keeps peeling oranges and I think he's doing it to annoy me." 

_"Oranges? As in the fruits?"_

"Yes."

_"He's peeling them?"_

"Yes."

 _"Oranges?"_  

Enjolras growled in frustration, "Yes, he is peeling oranges and it's driving me insane! He's all I can think about!"

There was silence over the phone for a moment, before Courfeyrac said,  _"He's all you can think about?"_

Enjolras frowned, "No, the oranges.  _They're_ all I can think about. Not Grantaire, why would I be thinking about Grantaire?"

Courfeyrac sighed,  _"I think you need sleep, Enjy. How about you talk to R about it tomorrow?"_ Enjolras gave a  _hmm_ of agreement before hanging up the phone. 

Sleep didn't come easy that night. 

\---

Enjolras stood outside the Musain, shivering in the breeze. He looked down at his watch; Grantaire was 10 minutes late.

He sighed and looked up and down the street, before contemplating just entering the café and waiting inside. However, just as Enjolras went to move, he saw Grantaire walk round the corner, headphones firmly in his ears, beanie rammed over his curls and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, Grantaire could be almost unbearably indie sometimes. 

"'Sup?" the darker haired man asked, tipping his head back as he blew smoke above him. For a moment, the smoke hung still before a brisk wind whisked it down the street. 

"We need to talk," Enjolras replied, scowling at the cigarette now between Grantaire's fingers (fingers that could peel an orange with ridiculous dexterity). 

Grantaire frowned, "What about? I didn't realise Apollo would dare deign to talk to a mere mortal like myself?" 

Biting back his angry retort, Enjolras angled his head to the Musain's door, "Inside?" he asked.

"Nah, I think I'd rather be stood for this, actually." Grantaire replied, before taking another drag and beginning to wander down the street. 

Enjolras clenched his fists before following, feeling the anger risi- Wait. _No._  

He wasn't angry? _Why_ wasn't he angry? Grantaire always made him angry, or at least frustrated. There was certainly annoyance lingering in the back of his mind, but that was nothing compared to the usual maelstrom of emotions Grantaire invoked. 

If anything, he just felt, well, content. 

More than a little disturbed, Enjolras followed Grantaire, who was heading in a seemingly random direction. 

"So, you wanted to talk?" Grantaire said, looking over at Enjolras with his eyebrows raised, a smirk playing round the corners of his mouth. 

"Right, yes." Enjolras paused in his walking to look at the other man. "Basically, you need to stop peeling oranges." 

The look on Grantaire's face was a mixture of both shock and confusion. If Enjolras had been any less serious, he probably would have laughed. 

"Oranges?" Grantaire asked. 

"Yes."

"The fruit?"

" _Yes._ "

"Peeling them?"

" _Oh for fu-_ Yes, oranges. You peel them all the time and it's driving me insane. I can't sleep, I can't work, I can't even  _read!_ " 

Enjolras watched as Grantaire's confusion blossomed into a shy sort of smile, "I'm stopping you from sleeping?" He asked, eyebrow quirked again. 

"Ye- Well, no. Yes. Look, not  _you,_ but the oranges." 

"You do realise how crazy you sound, right?" Grantaire said, chuckling. Enjolras frowned, folding his arms over his bright red peacoat. Grantaire grinned, "Okay, no oranges, I promise. But answer me one thing, okay?" Enjolras shrugged and nodded. "Do you honestly believe this is about oranges?" Grantaire asked, taking a step close to him. 

"What do you mean?" Enjolras asked, alarmed at how close he was to Grantaire. This close, he could probably count each of the other man's eyelashes- if he wanted to. Which he didn't. Uh. 

"All I'm saying is, do you think maybe you're using the oranges as an excuse, when really there's something else going on here?" 

Enjolras went to respond, but stopped. Something...  _Else?_ He was confused, surely Grantaire didn't think Enjolras was _interested in him?_ No, that was ridiculous. He couldn't stand Grantaire and his drinking and his annoying laugh and thick curls and the slight dimple he got when he smiled, not smirked, but actually smiled and- Oh  _shit._  

He liked Grantaire.  _He,_ Enjolras,  _liked Grantaire._ In fact, going on the warmth in the pit of his stomach and the blush rising to his cheeks, it was probably a bit past just liking him. "I- I didn't-?" he stuttered.

Grantaire grinned, "I knew you'd get there eventually," he said, somehow moving even closer. 

Enjolras groaned, "Oh god, I like  _you!_ This is so unfair, why  _you?"_ He realised he sounded like a petulant child (and was probably being rather rude) but shock was still coursing through his body. 

Thankfully, Grantaire just laughed, "Hey, Apollo, I'm a catch," he said, before winking playfully. 

"Don't call me that!" Enjolras protested in an attempt to cover up his reaction to that wink. Oh  _God._

"Why don't you shut me up then?" Grantaire replied, his voice lower, huskier. 

It was all the invitation Enjolras needed. 

He bridged the last few centimetres between them before kissing Grantaire, his (ridiculously cold) hands clinging onto his shoulders. Grantaire kissed back, his arms wrapping around Enjolras' waist and pulling him closer. Grantaire's feet bracketed his, meaning their bodies were pressed against each other from thigh to chest. The kiss deepened and Enjolras moaned as Grantaire bit down on his bottom lip, before soothing it with his tongue. One of Enjolras' hands remained clinging onto Grantaire's shoulders, whilst the other reached up to pull off the (stupidly cute) beanie hat so he could bury his hands in Grantaire's dark curls. 

It could of been minutes, months or years but eventually they broke apart, both panting slightly, their breathe condensing in the cold air. 

A little embarrassed, Enjolras looked down at the beanie in his hands, intending to hand it back. 

Instead he broke into laughter. 

It was bright _orange_. 

\---

 ** _A year_** _**later...**_  

\---

Enjolras groaned, stretching out his muscles before sitting up. The space next to him, where Grantaire shouldbe was empty. Frowning, Enjolras looked around. All of the other man's clothes were still lying on his floor (except Grantaire's jeans) so he could hardly have gone far. 

Standing, Enjolras stretched again, revelling in the popping in his shoulder blades, before heading over to his bedroom door. 

He stopped. 

Hung on the doorknob was a long strand of orange peel, entirely intact, with a post-it attached to the end. Reaching down, Enjolras pulled it off the peel and read; 

 _Happy anniversary of you finally realising how great I am.  
_ _Hope you still find me **a-peel-ing**_   _after all this time.  
_ _Yours,  
_ _R. xx_


End file.
